The Final Rallying Point
by PhoenixFire55
Summary: Reiben goes to heaven- based off of The Five People You Meet In Heaven. Five people will tell Reiben why his life mattered, and teach him five important lessons...
1. Finding Home

There was no blinding white light, no dark tunnel, no scythe-holding skeleton-man, no nothing. What happened to Reiben was simple.

He took one last, raspy breath, and he woke up in hell.

No heroic death for Richard Reiben. No funeral, either. Not that it mattered to him, anyways. Dead was dead.

It was the smoking that killed him. The drinking didn't help.

And hell? He'd seen it coming, to be honest. You don't just shoot men and get away with it. And just how, exactly, did he spend the rest of his life? Atoning for his sins, maybe? He smoked, he drank, and he skipped church. What had he been hoping for? That he'd get to skip out on the whole afterlife thing, no heaven and no hell for him. That he'd be allowed to just rot in his coffin for the rest of eternity.

But instead, he opened his eyes and saw hell. He vaguely wondered what level he was in. Then it hit him. He was in the ninth level. The worst level. The one reserved for traitors.

He paused for a second, wondering how he knew it was hell. But it had to be. Evidently, everyone just gets their own, personal version of hell to suffer in. Because what Reiben saw wasn't fire.

It was Omaha beach.

"This isn't hell, Reiben."

Reiben spun around.

"Upham," he whispered.

Upham smiled.

"Look around you, Reiben."

Reiben glanced at the beach. He was standing at the top, next to a desk with maps laid out on it. He looked down at his clothes, and saw that he was wearing his old military uniform. He saw his hands and realized that he wasn't old anymore. He was twenty-four. And he was breathing. Not with a smoker's lungs, though. With a soldier's lungs.

"You're twenty-four again," Upham said. "Because that's how old you were when you knew me."

"Why am I here?" Reiben asked. Then he realized that he knew what he was doing in hell, he didn't know what _Upham_ was doing in hell. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Because, Reiben. This is heaven."

Reiben frowned. His eyes narrowed. And he ran.

Because if this was heaven, then he'd rather be in hell.

He hadn't run in years, and it felt good. He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter. He ran down a dirt road, blinked, and suddenly Upham appeared in front of him. He turned around, but Upham was there, too.

"Send me back!" Reiben shouted.

"Back where?"

"Back _home_! Send me _home_!"

"You don't really know where home is, do you, Reiben? You never knew."

"I know where home is. Brooklyn. Now send me there."

"But you hated Brooklyn, Reiben. You always wished you could leave. But you never did. You couldn't."

"I swear, Upham, if you don't send me tell me what's going on right now-"

"That's not true, though, is it, Reiben? You could leave. You could _always_ leave. You just didn't."

"Get me outta here, Upham!"

"You see, that's your problem. Nothing's ever _your _fault. You come to heaven, and it's _my_ fault. The rest of the squad dies, and it's _Ryan's_ fault. Did you ever consider, Reiben, that Ryan wasn't even there? You were. How was _he _supposed to stop it from happening? Why couldn't _you_?"

Reiben shoved Upham to the ground.

"So, now it's _my_ fault Miller died? _I'm _the one who shot Caparzo? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying that you blame yourself. That deep down, you always knew it couldn't have been _Ryan's _fault. You only blamed him because you were trying to convince yourself it wasn't _your_ fault. And I'm also saying you need to let it go. It wasn't your fault, Reiben. You gotta let it go."

"Is that what you did, you little rat? Just forgot about them?"

"I didn't forget, Reiben. I accepted it. But you didn't, did you? You spent the rest of your life in Ramelle, trying to figure out a way to get all eight of us home. And you trapped yourself Reiben. Because there wasn't a way."

It was true, and Reiben knew it. He'd wasted his life in the past. He thought about it when he was sleeping, when he was working, when he was eating, whenever he could. He'd replay every moment in his mind. If he'd stayed with Mellish instead of Ryan and Miller, maybe the two of them could've taken that German soldier. If they'd shot the prisoner, maybe Miller would've made it home. He was slower than Jackson, maybe if he'd offered to go left instead, the German soldiers would've shot at him, not Wade. In his mind, everyone made it home.

Except Jackson. No matter how hard he thought about it, no matter how many diagrams he drew, he could never figure out a way to get Jackson out of the bell tower before it exploded.

And so, Upham was right. There wasn't a way for the eight of them to go home. There never was, and there never would be. If Reiben had stayed with Mellish instead of Ryan and Miller, maybe Miller would've died instead of Mellish. If Reiben had gone left instead of Jackson, maybe he would've died instead of Wade.

There was no way for the eight of them to leave Ramelle together, so Reiben had spent the rest of his life trapped in an abandoned village in his mind.

"How is _this_ heaven?" Reiben asked shakily.

"Heaven isn't what we think it is. It's not a paradise floating on clouds, or a Garden of Eden. It's not about what you see, it's about what you _feel_. You see, this is where it all started for me."

Upham turned and looked at Reiben strangely.

"Did I ever tell you my dad was a mapmaker?" Upham asked.

Reiben glanced at Upham.

"I could've guessed that."

"My dad, he was quiet. Never talked, really. Just sat there, working on those maps. So, I was happy when I joined the army and became a mapmaker. Thought my dad might be proud. He wasn't. Said there were all those boys over there fighting, and his son was scribbling. You see, I'd always thought I wanted to be like my dad. The thing was… I didn't. Without my dad, I finally felt like I could do something. He'd never told me I couldn't do anything, but he never told me I _could _do anything. He never really bothered with me, just assumed I'd be a nobody. Then I met you guys, and you told me I'd never do it. And I realized you were right- I couldn't write a book about war with the perfect heroes I'd made up. So instead I wrote the truth. I wrote about the real soldiers."

"I don't get it."

"None of us were Superman, you know? We were just scared boys who were trying to protect each other. We didn't want to be heroes… we just wanted to go home."

Reiben squinted at the beach.

"How does that answer my question?"

"This was where it all started for me, Reiben. I wrote a book about everything that happened to me here. And everything that happened to me for the rest of my life happened because of this place. Remember? This was where I met you guys. I was _happy_ here, because I finally knew that I was doing something important. That I was helping someone."

"What does that have to do with my question, Upham?"

"You asked me how this was heaven. You still don't get it, Reiben? This isn't your heaven."

Upham lifted his arms, and five men appeared. They were sitting in a circle, laughing and smoking. Reiben, Jackson, Caparzo, Mellish, and Wade.

"It's mine," Upham said.

Reiben stumbled through the rubble to look at himself. He looked happy. The memory of himself laughed again, and Reiben stared at him in disbelief. He couldn't remember what it felt like to be that happy. He stared bitterly at the ocean.

"Why did you pick this place, Upham? What kind of a heaven is this?"

"It wasn't the place, Reiben. It was the people."

Reiben sank to his knees. It was too much. Watching Jackson, Caparzo, Mellish, and Wade laugh together. Remembering how important they were to him.

"Why am I here, Upham? With you?"

"Because there's something I have to teach you."

Reiben lifted his head up and stared at Upham.

"I thought this was heaven. What do I have to learn in heaven?"

"Heaven isn't what you think it is," Upham repeated. "I hated myself for not helping Mellish. I was like you, Reiben. I couldn't let go. Couldn't move on. And then Mellish talked to me."

"You talked to Mellish?"

Upham nodded.

"What did he say?" Reiben asked.

"…He forgave me."

Reiben squinted at the ocean again, because his eyes were getting blurry with tears.

"What are you supposed to tell me?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"That you're going to meet five people. I'm your first person. Each person has something to teach you."

Suddenly, Reiben found himself standing in an apartment. Upham walked in.

"It was my first day back home," the real Upham said next to Reiben. "I was visiting my parents."

Memory Upham walked into the kitchen, where his mother immediately pulled him into a hug. Reiben watched as she sobbed into Upham's chest, telling him how much she loved him.

"Dad?" memory Upham said. Reiben saw a thin man leaning against the counter, a cigar in his mouth. The man stared at Upham, not a trace of emotion on his face. Then he walked into another room and sat down at a table full of papers. Reiben glanced at them.

Maps.

Memory Upham stood perfectly still. He stared at his father with some mixture of sadness, and regret that he still couldn't make his father proud. Then something changed in his face.

"That was when I realized that I'd never make my dad proud," Upham said. "But more importantly… I didn't care."

"Why didn't you care?"

"Because you made me feel like I mattered, Reiben. And that was all I'd ever wanted my dad to do."

Reiben glanced away.

"You're thinking of Wade."

"I'm thinking of you, Reiben. Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

Everything changed, and Reiben found himself standing at Ramelle. Saying goodbye to Upham.

"Bye Reiben," memory Upham said quietly.

Memory Reiben didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge Upham until Upham walked away.

"Hey," memory Reiben said. "Tell me when you finish that book, Upchuck."

Upham smiled.

"See ya around?" memory Reiben asked.

"Definitely," memory Upham said.

"There were a lot of times when I felt like I should just quit writing my book," the real Upham said. "But you told me to tell you when I finished the book. So, I had to finish it. Because you believed I could do it."

"I never really saw you after that," the real Reiben said regretfully.

Upham shrugged.

"That's not the part of the story that matters," Upham said. "Because it wasn't the end. You're here now, right? And this is just the beginning."

Reiben looked at Upham in surprise.

"Will I get to see you again?" Reiben asked. "Even after I go see my next person?"

"Heaven is like a rallying point, Reiben. We were all here, waiting for you. See, there are different parts in heaven. This is just your first part. I already talked to my five people, now I'm on my second part. Talking to you."

"What happens after that?"

"I don't know. It'll be something great, though."

"How do you know that? How do you know it won't be something horrible? Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe I'm supposed to be in hell. What if that's where I go next?"

"War is hell, Reiben. You've already been there."

Reiben looked curiously at Upham.

"Is that the thing you're supposed to teach me?"

Upham shook his head.

"No. Home. That's what I teach you. Home."

"What?"

Slowly, Ramelle became Omaha beach again. And slowly, Omaha beach became a cemetery. A cemetery Reiben had visited often. They were standing in front of Mellish's grave.

"The Colleville-sur-Mer American Cemetery," Upham said softly. "You could never find home, Reiben. So, you thought of this cemetery as home. Why? Not because you lived here. Not because it looked like home. No. So, why was this your home, Reiben?"

Reiben looked at Upham.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "It always just… felt right, I guess. Being here."

"That's the lesson. That's what I'm here to teach you."

"What? That… that this is my home?"

"No. Not _where_ your home is. _What _your home is."

Reiben shook his head. He was getting tired of these mind games.

"I don't get it, Upham."

"You know that saying, home is where your heart is? The lesson, Reiben, is that home isn't one certain place, determined by how much money you have, or where you were born. Home is where you feel right… home is where your family is."

Reiben squinted at Upham, unsure where this was going.

"You still don't get it, do you? The lesson, Reiben. _The lesson_. This wasn't your home because you lived here. It was your home because home is where your family is…and your family is here."

Reiben choked back tears as he stared out at the sea of white graves. Upham raised his arms, and suddenly the crosses were guns, green helmets balancing on the top of each one. Now Reiben saw what he hadn't been able to picture before. If he squinted his eyes, he couldn't see the guns, only the helmets. And looking at it that way, they looked like people. Like he was getting an aerial view of the landing ships on D-Day. Seeing them as soldiers instead of graves made all the difference.

And now Reiben got it. People never really leave, not if they have something to teach you. They hover. And they wait.

"They weren't physically here, Reiben. Up here, you can't see earth. There's no looking down on people. And you can't _physically _be there. But when someone needs you, Reiben, you can feel it. Trust me. And all those times you came back here, it was because you needed them. And they felt it. You felt them, too. Didn't you? Felt like they were here."

"Not always," Reiben admitted.

"Not when you were mad, no. When you feel anger, it blocks out everything else. But most of the time you came here when you were sad. They could feel that. That you needed them. So they came here, and stood in front of their graves. The same graves you were standing in front of down on earth. And they were there, Reiben. For you. You needed them, so they were there. Love is simple, Reiben. And so is home."

Upham pointed at Mellish's grave.

"The names face west, Reiben."

Reiben looked at Upham, waiting for him to say more, but he didn't. West? Reiben couldn't even begin to think what that might mean.

Upham put his hand on Reiben's shoulders, and a second later they were standing on Omaha beach.

"They face due west, Reiben. Towards America."

Upham gave Reiben a shove, and he fell into the water. As he sank below the surface of that horrible water, the water that haunted his nightmares, the water that had consumed his very soul, Reiben heard what Upham said next clearly, echoing through the waves.

"Towards home."

**I'll have at least five chapters, of Reiben meeting his five people. I might end up doing Upham going to heaven, and his conversation with Mellish. I don't know. What do you think? Should I do more characters meeting their five people, and if so... which characters? **


	2. So Costly a Sacrifice

Reiben thrashed around in the water, memories of dead bodies floating next to him flashed through his mind. Waves crashed into him and threw him towards the beach, then dragged him back out to the ocean again.

A booming voice echoed through the ocean.

"My dear Mrs. Ryan… it is with the most profound sense of joy that I write to inform you your son, Private James Ryan, is well and, at this very moment, on his way home from European battlefields."

"No," Reiben shouted. "No! _NO_!"

"Reports from the front indicate James did his duty in combat with great courage and steadfast dedication, even after he was informed of the tragic loss your family has suffered in this great campaign to rid the world of tyranny and oppression. I take great pleasure in joining the Secretary of War, the men and women of the U.S. Army, and the citizens of a grateful nation in wishing you good health and many years of happiness with James at your side."

Reiben shouted and swore, trying harder to escape the water.

"Nothing, not even the safe return of a beloved son, can compensate you, or the thousands of other American families, who have suffered great loss in this tragic war."

Finally, Reiben was thrown out of the water. He landed on an empty street. Standing up and brushing himself off, he looked around for Upham.

"I might share with you some words which have sustained me through long, dark nights of peril, loss, and heartache."

Reiben listened, knowing what those nights felt like. The voice appeared to be coming out of a theater, so Reiben stepped inside.

"And I quote: 'I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement…"

Reiben found himself in what looked like a basement, and wandered up a set of stairs in the corner.

"…And leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost…"

Reiben was in the theater now, and he wound his way through rows and rows of red chairs until he made it to another set of stairs, where the voice seemed to be coming from.

"…And the solemn pride that must be yours…"

Reiben climbed the stairs and found himself on a balcony overlooking the theater. A man sat in one of the empty red chairs, staring right at Reiben, and Reiben suddenly realized that this man was repeating the letter from memory.

"…To have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom'," the man continued softly. "Abraham Lincoln. Yours very sincerely and respectfully, George C. Marshall… General, Chief of Staff."

Reiben, who had waited quietly and patiently up until that point, narrowed his eyes suspiciously at General Marshall.

"You're the guy who sent us on that mission," Reiben said quietly, but angrily. "Aren't you?"

Marshall nodded.

"You bastard. You _bastard_!"

"Yes," Marshall said calmly. "Private. I'm the one who sent you on that mission."

Reiben tensed, clenching his hands into fists, but attempting to restrain himself.

"Go ahead," Marshall said, beckoning Reiben towards him with his left hand. "Let me have it, Private."

Reiben lunged at Marshall, sending them both over the edge of the balcony. They fell hard, but Reiben felt no pain. He pounded Marshall over and over again, right across the face.

Marshall was silent, and it seemed to Reiben that he felt no pain, either.

"Let go of the anger," Marshall said. "Private. Let it all out."

Marshall let Reiben beat him for a few more seconds before easily flipping him to the floor with his arm. Reiben lay there, stunned out how easily he was taken down.

"I did it because it was the right thing to do," Marshall said calmly, but sternly. "Mrs. Ryan deserved to have her son come home."

"My mom deserved to have _me _come home!" Reiben shouted. "And so did Jackson's mom, and Caparzo's! And everyone else's!"

"That's true, Private. But it wasn't a strategic mission, it was a moral mission."

"It doesn't make a _difference_! Six of us died looking for that jackass!"

"And how many of you would've died if I hadn't sent you on that mission?"

Reiben paused.

"Did you ever think that maybe you didn't save Private Ryan? That maybe it was _Ryan _who saved _you_?"  
"Ryan didn't save me."

"If you hadn't gotten that mission, you would've gone to Caen. And you would've fought."

"I _did _fight. We fought at Neuville, we fought at a radar station, we fought at Ramelle..."

"But if you hadn't gotten that mission, you would've fought somewhere else, against someone else. And you might've died. If it hadn't been for Private Ryan, you could've been killed sixty-five years ago."

"_He didn't save me_."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

"…What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'd never be able to take it, if you thought Ryan had helped you. Because you based your whole life entirely on the idea that Ryan had ruined it."

Reiben shook his head, not understanding.

"Different people, Reiben, base their lives on different things. Some people base their lives on love. Others base it on honor. And as much as you hate to admit it, you based your life on Ryan."

"I didn't base my life on Ryan," Reiben said angrily.

"Then how do you explain why everything you did related back to Ryan? You never left Brooklyn, and you told yourself that it was because Ryan had ruined your life. That you'd never feel happy anywhere, because of what Ryan had done? You never fell in love, and you blamed it on Ryan. Ryan had taken all the people you cared about, and now you couldn't bring yourself to care about anyone else? But did you ever stop to think, just for a moment, that maybe the reason you didn't do any of those things wasn't because of Ryan? That it was because you were afraid of finding out that it was a lie? You were _living _a lie, Reiben. Ryan never ruined your life. _You_ did that, all on your own. What were you hiding from, Reiben? The truth? That _you_ owed _Ryan_, instead of the other way around?"

"I don't owe Ryan! I don't owe anybody anything!"

"And that's your problem, Reiben. No one ever loved you, so you didn't need to love anyone. No one ever helped you, so you didn't need to help anyone. That's what you told yourself, your whole life. But that wasn't true, either. Was it?"

"…If you're supposed to teach me something," Reiben said bitterly. "Just do it."

Marshall laughed.

"I _am _teaching you something, Reiben. But if you want me to skip to the next part of the lesson, maybe that'll make more sense to you."

"The next part?"

"The next part. First, I tell you something about yourself. Then I tell you something about myself, and explain my place to you. Then I tell you how that thing about yourself, and that thing about _my_self are connected. Got it?"

Reiben nodded slowly.

Marshall stood up, and helped Reiben up.

"You know where we are, Private?"

Reiben shrugged.

"The Ford Theater," Marshall said. "Abraham Lincoln was shot in that balcony up there, where you found me. You know why I chose this place, Reiben?"

Reiben shook his head.

"Because I came here once, when I was just a boy. And my father read me a letter. A letter written to a Mrs. Bixby in Boston, during the Civil War. I never forgot that letter, Private. And I never forgot this place."

Reiben nodded, disinterested, glancing around the theater.

"The reason I'm telling you this, Reiben…is because this is the place I thought of when three men entered my office one morning, to tell me that a woman had just lost three of her sons, and no one knew where the fourth brother was."

Reiben stared directly at Marshall, curiosity now mixing with his anger. He'd always wondered what had gone on that morning. How Ryan had become their mission.

"You see, my father was also a general. And I can't count how many times he said to me… 'George, when you're over there fighting, if you only remember one thing, you make sure it's this… _Never _leave a man behind. No matter what.' And I never forgot it."

Reiben looked away.

I will never leave a fallen comrade. The Ranger Creed. He'd sworn to it.

And Ryan was his comrade, no matter what.

"I thought back to that day when my father stood here, reading the letter to me. And I realized that if I _didn't_ send anyone in, and that boy died…I'd never forgive myself. But I also wondered how I'd ever be able to live with myself if I sent in eight men, and _they _died because of me… You felt overlooked, didn't you? You didn't think I'd thought about you, Private. I did, though. And it killed me to know that I was the reason six soldiers were killed. But I needed heroes, Reiben. So, I sent you boys in to save the day."

Reiben glanced away again, trying to hold back his tears. But when he looked at Marshall again, they weren't standing in the Ford Theater anymore. They were standing in a kitchen, pictures of four boys hanging all around the house.

A woman stood washing her hands at the sink. A black car pulled up the long drive, and she frowned, watching it drive towards her house. _Not my house, not my house,_ she prayed.

The car stopped in front of her house, and she opened her front door. Two men got out, and she collapsed to the floor.

Reiben lowered his eyes, but he knew he deserved this. And he couldn't help thinking that this was when she thought it was only one of her sons. He didn't want to hang around to watch when she found out it was three of them.

"This is why I sent you," Marshall said.

Reiben was silent, watching as the men talked to the woman. Her hand slowly rose to her mouth in disbelief, and she sobbed. Sobbed and sobbed. Reiben looked away, ashamed.

"Moreover," Miller's voice came echoing through the kitchen. "I feel heartfelt sorrow for the mother of Private James Ryan and am wiling to lay down my life and the lives of my men- especially you, Reiben- to ease her suffering."

Then they were back in the theater.

"I'm not asking you to forgive Ryan. No, that's a lesson you'll have to learn from someone else. What I'm asking you to do is accept that I was the one who started this… I was the one who chose Ryan over you."

Reiben slowly lifted his head to look at Marshall.

"…And I'm asking you to forgive me," Marshall said softly, pleadingly. He offered out his hand.

Reiben stared at Marshall, the man who'd caused him so much hatred, so much bitterness, so much pain.

And Reiben slowly reached out and shook his hand. Marshall smiled.

"I still don't get it," Reiben said quietly. "What was the lesson?"

"Hatred, Reiben. _Hatred_. Anger is a poison. It tears us apart, ruins us. It makes us start killing each other."

Reiben instinctively looked at his hands, checking for blood. They were dry, but as he watched, the word _For_ glowed across his right hand, and the word _Give _glowed across his right.

"Give. Forgive, Private. Forgiveness is a gift. We have to forgive each other… but we also have to forgive ourselves. And that's the lesson."

Reiben frowned.

"The best of all swindlers, Reiben, are the self-swindlers. And you were the best at tricking yourself. You didn't want to face the fact that you hated yourself, so you hated _Ryan_. You didn't want to have to ask yourself if what happened to the squad was your fault, so you blamed _Ryan_. And now, in order to forgive yourself…you have to forgive _Ryan_."

The words _For_ and _Give _faded away on Reiben's hands. He lifted his head to look at Marshall again.

"Give For each other, Reiben, by ForGiving each other. You forgave me. I can't teach you how to forgive Ryan, but someone else can. Forgive Ryan, so you can forgive yourself."

Reiben's second lesson.

"You know why I chose this place, Reiben? Because when I stand here, and I remember my father talking to me…sending you boys in to save Private Ryan doesn't feel like a mistake to me."

Reiben nodded slowly, thinking it all over. The first lesson was home. The second lesson was forgiveness.

That left three lessons. Three people.

Marshall gently shoved Reiben towards the stairs he'd come up from, the ones leading to the basement.

"Godspeed, soldier."

Reiben turned around slowly, to face Marshall one last time. He saluted. Marshall smiled, and saluted back.

Then Reiben turned around again and headed down the stairs. He left the basement through a side door, and glanced around again. The street was still empty. Not knowing what else to do, he walked up the street, and as he did so, it slowly became an entirely different street.

"Hello?" Rieben shouted.

No one answered.

"_Hello_?" he shouted again, desperate now. "Please! Where are you? I'm tired of this!"

"Tired?" a familiar voice shouted back from one of the buildings. "You know, the trick to falling asleep, Reiben, is to try to stay awake."

Reiben's head snapped up.

"Wade?" he called.

Wade stepped out of the building, beaming in his combat fatigues.


End file.
